


The Eagle and The Bluebird

by gutbub



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Everyone is Dead, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22444360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutbub/pseuds/gutbub
Summary: Strange tales came from travelers of an all white sea eagle who flew where no sea eagle should be, accompanied by a small bluebird that sang the most beautiful song.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	The Eagle and The Bluebird

**Author's Note:**

> Oops this is kinda angsty but there's a happy ending

When Jaskier passed away, it wasn't publicized, it wasn't announced, it wasn't decreed. When Jaskier passed away, it was a small solemn affair, antithetical to the way the bard had lived. They wrapped him in a shroud, covering his aged face with roughly woven linen, and lowered him in the almost frozen ground, said a few words and buried him. The people who buried him were not his friends, they were not his family, they were folks from the nearby village who took pity upon the isolated old man and would do weekly checks on him, expecting him to keel over any day. Finally he did. They buried him and went through his belongings, one man taking his lute to give to his little girl.

Some people say that you know when someone close to you has died. Others say that that is hogwash. But the day that Jaskier died, Geralt was in a sour mood even though he was on the other side of the Continent. 

The fighting was easy, and the coin was plenty. Geralt should have been at least content. But something ate away inside him. A wrongness that couldn't be set right, like an ill-healed bone that ached in the cold weather. He grew more cross, more agitated, using excessive violence against his enemies. The months passed and still something inside of him ached. 

As he rode Roach, the hundredth chestnut horse with the same name as those who came before it, he saw a flash of blue in the trees next to him, and a warbling song came forth, spilling out of the small bluebird like water from a spring or light from the sun. Suddenly the ache that had bothered him for so long vanished. Geralt took a deep breath of the earthy forest, the scent of life and decay intermingling and he could swear he could smell the sun as its light passed through the trees. Roach feeling her rider relax, relaxed as well, head dipping down, ears flopping to the side, and steps becoming languid as she strolled along the forest path. The bluebird kept pace, bright dark eyes watching the silver haired Witcher and the burnished red horse. 

Geralt let out a sigh, hoping that the bluebird was just a curious creature and not some type of cursed individual that needed help. He looked at it intently, and the bluebird suddenly stopped singing and flew to the highest reaches of the trees. As silence fell upon the Witcher, he noted that the strange ache began to come back, not as strongly, but… it was still there. 

He let out a growl, frustrated that even in these calm woods he could not find peace. 

Sightings of bluebirds became common for him, but it always seemed to be the same bird, singing a strangely familiar song that comforted him. He wandered across the Continent and still the bluebird seemed to follow, until one day, it fell from the trees, eyes open and dull, feathers worn with age. Geralt stopped Roach, her muzzle starting to gray and the hollows over her eyes deep with age, he knelt next to the little bird, tenderly picking it up in his hands. It's heart did not beat, and he frowned. Such a small inconsequential creature, yet he felt compelled to bury it. And so he did. He dug a small hole at the base of a tree, laying down leaves and some small flowers. He laid the fragile bird down and covered it with dirt. 

The ache was back, no warbling songs to keep him and Roach company as they traversed the Continent fighting monsters. 

A couple weeks later he was on a new Roach, this gelding was young, feisty and spirited. A dark red, with paler mane and tail, and four white socks. Geralt wondered how many horses he had owned in his lifetime. The ache grew deeper as time went on. 

Suddenly there was another bluebird, singing the same song, following him day in and day out. It followed him where no bluebirds ever went, singing that comforting song. Geralt was kinder to this bird, leaving small snacks for it when food was scarce, letting it rest on Roach's back. It would bring him bright yellow flowers, placing them on Roach's mane. Geralt was glad that the ache was gone, but it bothered him that he did not know why it was gone. 

Then the bluebird died. Geralt buried it with yellow flowers and a piece of Roach's mane in a quiet barren field. He carried on. 

Some months later, yet another bluebird flew alongside him, singing that same warbling tune. This one had more white on it's breast, and black feathers in it's tail, but it sang the same tune, and Geralt knew it was the same bird. And so life went on for Geralt, years melting into decades as he got new Roach's, and new bluebird companions all singing the same song. 

Eventually, death catches up to all. It was on the side of a mountain when death caught up to Geralt. He had battled a troll and just barely won. His old battleworn body could take no more, and with a death rattle he passed away, alone except for the flash of blue that rested on his chest. 

His body decayed into the soil of the mountain, fitting for the mountain of a man he had been. 

A few years later, strange tales came from travelers of an all white sea eagle who flew where no sea eagle should be, accompanied by a small bluebird that sang the most beautiful song. They flew across deserts and through forested plains, the eagle ever silent and watching, the bluebird ever singing. Soon legends were born around this strange pair, star-crossed lovers who only found love in death, a symbol of good fortune, or maybe bad, it was once said that true friendship never dies, and that these two were proof of that. 


End file.
